Bequeath unto me this greatest of honour. This thread which plague me with flies, for Stoke commeth to mine spirit and mine place of St Marys. Awake the snorting citizens of Not606 with thine bell. For shame, sir, we have been robb'd too many times now of three nuggets of gold. We must henceforth, with faith tonight, conquer this oncoming horde, afore the devil will make a grandsire of you. Is this three points I see before me? The football toward my foot. Come, let me kick thee toward the net. I have three not, and yet I see three still. Art thou not, fatal relegation, sensible. The three or not the three, that is the question - Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows and sign Quinton Fortune, Or take arms against a sea of Russian roubles, And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep whilst watching the sideways pass. No more; To sleep, perchance to dream of Europe. Ay, there's the rub. I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our St Mary's home, to ride out the storm of Stoke, and to outlive the menace of Les Reed's tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do. That is the resolve of the Northam, the Chapel, the Itchen and the other one that I can never remember-every man of them. That is the will of Pellegrino and the nation. The squad and the crowd, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength. Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous clubs have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Championship and all the odious apparatus of FA rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end of the season, we shall fight in Leicester, we shall fight on the fields and the grass, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our stadium, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight from defence, we shall fight for the second ball, we shall fight in the opposing box and in the midfield, we shall fight in the air; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, the Chapel, or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then the Northam beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the mighty Saints, would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old. I could not have blamed you for being the first to lose heart if I, your thread writer, had not shared in your exhausting marches (#wemarchon) and your perilous campaigns; it would have been natural enough if you had done all the work merely for others to reap the reward by going to more exciting away fixtures. But it is not so. You and I, gentlemen (and ladies), have shared the labour and shared the danger, and the rewards are for us all. The three points belongs to you; I think this may be the strangest thread ever, but I haven't got much time this week, sorry!
Well done Laces my boy. As you might even have said yourself: “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” If the players read this thread the nuggets are in the bag!
Come on, Saints. You have to win this....Laces isn't yet completely insane, but he is teetering on the edge. A few more failures to lose (also sometimes called winning) and the men in white coats will get involved. So close, so close, Saints. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more.
Romeu, Romeu. Wherefore art thou Romeu? Deny thy Saints and refuse thy game. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn by love of the game, And I’ll no longer Capitulate.
Excellent thread again Laces, more enjoyable than the game itself, no doubt. "Three nuggets of gold" .
BREAKING BARD English teacher turns Shakespearian drug chef, cooking and selling crystal macbeth. Brian Bilston
I will be at the dentist on Saturday, appointment at 3pm. Hopefully my pain will be greater than that inflicted on Saints and it’s supporters. Actually, I hope it will be pain free for all of us, with the only fillings being the ball hitting the back of Stoke’s net. Will brace myself.
Sonnet 30 When to this season of relegation thought I summon up remembrance of games lost, I sigh the lack of many a win we sought, And with old woes wail many a game's waste: Then I down a shot and whisky flows, For precious friends hide on Saturday nights, And weep afresh at Long's missed goal, And moan th' points vanish'd from our sight; Then I grieve many a goal chance foregone, And heavily from miss to miss tell o'er The sad account and have a good old moan, Which I now say as if not said before. But if the while I think of our demise, Missed goals have brought us to this sad end.
PRINCE HENRY: The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blust'ring day. KING: Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win. - Henry IV Part 1
